


Adagio in White

by esama



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover, Do not repost, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-26 22:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18291260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: In which Desmond deliberately and repeatedly glitches out the Animus





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by Nimadge
> 
> Background music [Tron Legacy - Soundtrack OST - 10 Adagio For TRON - Daft Punk](https://youtu.be/aFIXKXYfEy0)

The Animus glitches out occasionally. It's a side effect of his bad synchronisation, Vidic says, that he needs to keep trying – and stop wandering _off_ his ancestors usual paths. "You cannot expect Altaïr to have gone on every rooftop in Masyaf, Mr. Miles, now keep your feet on the ground," and so on. Which is fair – but it's also boring.

And Desmond, though he isn't about to start a riot here or anything, he values his life and what little of his freedom is left too much… well, he still isn't that keen on jumping to Vidic's every command either. The guy is a creep and an asshole, and also there is the whole point of _kidnapping_ and _drugging_ and fucking taking him to another country.

So, Animus glitches out occasionally, and Desmond might occasionally do it on purpose. Usually. Most of the time. And really, if there were any sane people around, could they blame him for it? At least on the Animus loading screen he still feels like himself, like a person, like _Desmond Miles_ and not… not Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, the disgraced asshole of a Master Novice Assassin.

"Fuck," Desmond murmurs, running his hands over his neck. It's all digital or whatever you call this space in the Animus – which is all apparently in his head, which… okay, sure, why not. In either case, it's not real – his real physical body is lying on a wavy slab of metal with weird nodes pouring who knows what radiation at his spine from below, and… yeah, he doesn't really want to think about what the machine is actually doing to him.

Judging by the nightmares he has and how he gets confused about having full number of fingers, it's not good.

But here, in the in-between loading screen while Animus resets Altaïr back to the starting point, Desmond is still Desmond… even if the Animus renders him in Altaïr's skin.

It would be eight seconds. He's counted it – as time passes for it, it's eight second from de-synch to re-synch, or whatever the terms are. Eight seconds of being Desmond before his mind gets to the backseat and Altaïr takes over and he becomes some sort of… over the shoulder puppeteer for his ancestor's memories. Eight seconds.

Desmond closes his eyes and thinks, longingly, of the wear on the countertop of Bad Weather, what it sounded like when a shot glass was snapped on it, the sweet sound of clear alcohol being poured into the glass, the ease with which it went down, the burn. Fuck, but he really, really wants a drink. Altaïr doesn't drink – he abhors the idea of alcohol as a manipulative substance that will dull his edge, or whatever. Altaïr never thinks of getting drunk, probably never has drank a thing in his life. Desmond has, and Desmond wants a drink.

There is a sort of _screech_ of programming, and Desmond frowns, opening his eyes. Usually when the Animus loads him back in, there's a sort of mental zoom into Altaïr, with environment building itself up around him – this is different. And he's still in the liminal white space.

There's a sort of – lattice of colour building up in the white. Desmond watches it and waits – kind of looks like the Animus is glitching out worse than usual, it's having hard time loading up an environment. The lattice of colour sort of spreads – no, it moves. The slashes of blue and orange that make it stay in place, but as more of them appear, the last slashes disappear, so it sort of looks like it's moving, but also not. Weird. Maybe it's supposed to be an NPC, but the Animus is having a meltdown?

The two-toned lattice moves over the white, spreading and flickering, but nothing else happens. It's way past eight seconds now, though, and time is ticking on and nothing else is happening.

At what feels like a solid minute mark, Desmond clears his throat. "Um," he says and looks up – to where he knows the invisible camera hangs, the one Abstergo uses to watch him in the Animus. "Lucy?"

Lucy doesn't answer – the flicker does, stilling in the air and then sort of… pulsing with audio.

"I'm afraid that is not my name, sir," it says. "Terribly sorry."

"Um," Desmond answers, his eyes widening. The voice is male, and definitely not Vidic – last he heard Vidic did not have a British accent. "Okay, what the hell?"

The lattice of slightly miss aligned lines of blue and orange hums – sort of like an old television set – and just as its voice echoes again, saying, "Of that I have no experience–" Desmond gets pulled out of the Animus, white nothingness – and the lattice – all zooming out until he can see more colours, until he can see a ceiling – and the visor, rolling away from his face.

"Are you alright?" Lucy asks from behind the monitors.

"Y-yeah – what was that?" Desmond asks, looking around. "Where's Vidic?"

"Lunch," Lucy says, not looking up – she's scowling at the screen. "The Animus had an unexpected network error – I'm looking into it now. There's dinner for you in your room – why don't you have a bite to eat and stretch your legs while I work on this?"

"Um. Sure," Desmond answers and sits up slowly. His back feels hot – the transferred heat of the Animus nodes, still lingering on the back of his hoodie. It never stops being really creepy – it's almost like he can just feel the carcinogenic radiation working its dark magic or something. Christ.

Desmond swings his legs over the edge of the Animus and rubs at his neck, looking towards his room – his cell. Dinner. Altaïr never eats, which is what it is – but somehow, it gives Desmond this pervasive sensation of… whatever the complete opposite of being hungry is. It's weird and not all that conducive to appetite. Eating whatever takeout some low-level employee at Abstergo decided was good enough to be called food…

But hey, he's out of the Animus now. Probably should consider that a win.

"I think the Animus glitches out there," he says to Lucy. "I thought I heard a voice on the load screen."

"I'll look into it," Lucy says. "Go eat."

Desmond gets up and goes to eat.

* * *

 

The glitch is still there the next time Desmond is loaded into the Animus. He only spots it for a moment before the Animus loads him off from the white screen and into the Damascus Assassin Bureau, just at the eve of another assassination. The Rafiq there is delightfully unhelpful, and sort of cheerfully insulting at Altaïr, which is kind of fun – at least, until Desmond/Altaïr talks to him again, and he repeats everything he said in the exact same tone of cheerful sarcasm.

The target of that session is Abu'l Noqoud, a merchant and a mass poisoner by the end of the session. Altaïr is left a little disturbed by the whole thing. Altair is starting to doubt the whole hunt for the nine – something Desmond does and doesn't really share. He's trying not to get too invested in Altaïr's mission, he doesn't _care_ – why should he care, he wants _none_ of this… but it's hard not to get involved, with Altaïr creeping into his head, like an infection. Sometimes Desmond can almost visualise it, Altaïr's thoughts spreading over his own grey matter, foreign electrical signals overwriting his own.

All the men he's killing, they all believe they are in the right – and not only in the right, but doing evil deeds for the purest of causes. Much like Assassins themselves, something which Altaïr has often viewed with private disdain. Work in the shadows to serve the light, indeed – as if murder could ever be of service to anyone but powerful men, like Al Mualim. Not that Altaïr minded – he was fine with being a tool, for he was the best tool there was. He was well satisfied with that, serving the cause of a master as powerful as his own, and if Al Mualim thought himself in the right, then all the better, yes?

And yet, now Altaïr doubts the course he is on, for the justifications his prey spouts sound so familiar and so confused – are they not the same justifications Al Mualim gives him, and his brothers give themselves? And if his prey sees themselves in the right, and Al Mualim does also, then who is in the wrong, and what is the right cause in the first place, and

And Desmond _isn't Altaïr._

Desmond ends up glitching out of the Animus by going into unmapped sections of the city, forcing his way through the flickering barrier of unavailable memories until the Animus shudders under the strain and spits him out and into the load screen, where Altaïr's thoughts fade and he is himself again.

Desmond lets out a frustrated groan and shoves Altaïr's hood down, lifting his hands and then squeezing them into fists. He has _ten_ fingers and he has _never_ killed a man in his life. He's Desmond Miles and he _isn't an Assassin_!

"Hello sir," a polite British voice comments, and Desmond almost falls over.

The lattice glitch is still there, the lines of slightly misaligned slashes of blue and orange stilling as he stumbles back and then moving almost cautiously forward. "Apologies, I did not mean to startle you. Are you alright?"

"The fuck," Desmond answers, glancing around. "Lucy, can you hear me? The Animus is talking at me?"

"That, I'm afraid, is also not my name," the glitch informs him. "May I ask who it –"

And then the Animus loads Desmond back into Damascus, near the edge of the white flickering barrier of untapped memories. Desmond hovers there for a moment, on the edge of a rooftop, and then crouches down on it. Altaïr is creeping up on him again, and Altaïr doesn't like making a big target – he runs when he has to, but standing still on rooftops, he prefers to crouch.

"The hell," Desmond murmurs in Altaïr's Arabic, but, thankfully, no one answers.

Shaking his head, Desmond considers the white barrier and then decides he feels enough like himself, and turns Altaïr around, towards the bureau.

* * *

 

The glitch in the Animus load screen isn't there the next time he passes through – Desmond looks for it warily, but there is nothing but whiteness all around, and the place is still and quiet. Moment later, the load screen zooms out, and Desmond wakes up on the Animus' wavy table, his spine tingling and his head feeling like it's stuffed full of cotton.

"Ms. Stillman is again insisting we let you rest," Vidic says, peering at him like Desmond is a particularly vexing quinea pig. "So get up, Mr. Miles, and off to bed. We have a lot of work tomorrow."

"Great," Desmond says and doesn't move, staying lying down, just to be a little shit about it.

Vidic waits for a moment and then scoffs and turns to leave, saying, "Deal with him," to Lucy as he goes.

"Yes, sir," Lucy says, leaning back on her chair and sighing. Automatic doors hiss open, hiss shut, and then they're alone.

Desmond wonders what would happen if he just – didn't move. Not that he wants to stay on the Animus, because fuck that – but he also doesn't want to go into his room, because he knows the moment he goes in and the door closes, he will be locked inside. And for some reason, the room just makes him feel uneasy – and the cameras in there definitely don't help.

"How are you feeling?" Lucy asks.

Desmond doesn't answer, eying the ceiling. There's a brown smudge up there. "The Animus had another glitch before – I was on the load screen for like twenty seconds, calling for you. I think you weren't here?"

Lucy looks up and then sighs. "I do sometimes have to go to the bathroom, Desmond, I'm sorry. Twenty seconds isn't that bad – if it had been longer than a few minutes, I would have caught it and pulled you out."

"Uh-huh," Desmond says, and at her word realises that he too probably needs to go to the bathroom. He hasn't gone to the toilet in – who knows how long. "What time is it?"

"It's almost ten," Lucy says and packs up her tablet, standing up. "Warren is right – you should go to bed."

Desmond doesn't move.

"Desmond," she says, sounding tired. "You know I can't leave until you do. Just… please, don't be difficult."

"Well, I was kidnapped," Desmond says. "I think I probably should be more difficult than I am. I mean, I'm being pretty chill about this whole kidnapping thing. Haven't even tried to swing at anyone yet or anything."

Lucy looks at him like he's full of shit – but she also doesn't argue. Desmond tilts his head to look at her. "How do your kidnap victims usually behave? I mean, if I'm number 17, there gotta have been others."

Lucy looks away, her lips tightening. "Just go to bed, Desmond, please. Don't make this hard for yourself – I will call for security if I have to."

Though he's tempted to push it, the last encounter he had with Abstergo's grunts he ended up being punched in the stomach, drugged, waking up with a bag over his head and then he was transported to Rome, so… he's not that eager for a repeat performance. "Fine," he says and gets up.

Someone's been in his room, which isn't that surprising – they clean it and deliver him food, which he rarely eats while he's in the Animus. There's something to eat there too, another bag of fast food, which doesn't look all that appealing – the grease in it has seeped through the containers, turning them brown. Ugh. The linen closet is open, though, which is new. Usually the thing is locked.

He checks it and then frowns – between the neatly folded sheets, there's a corner of something that looks a lot like a credit card. It isn't.

It's an access key.

Desmond glances at the door and then, tucking the card into his sleeve, he goes and face plants onto the bed, and stays there until someone somewhere decides to turn down the lights.

* * *

 

Desmond wakes up in the middle of the night in the wake of a nightmare – Altaïr, around the age of ten or something, learning about the death of his father, not nice and also not something that should make him want to cry like a little kid who, yeah, lost his father. Hell, Altaïr didn't really even know his dad, going by the dream, and Desmond's own dad is an asshole – there is nothing there to be empathic about.

Annoyed, he wipes at his eyes and then stares at the ceiling, for a moment imagining it collapsing down on him and just… ending this whole thing. It wouldn't, of course, and he doesn't actually want to die, but fuck, he's so tired of this shit. Tomorrow is going to be the same as yesterday, and probably the day after that too, and each day he can feel himself _change_ somehow. The Animus is fucking him up.

How much longer until he woke up and didn't even know who Desmond Miles was? Altaïr would find the 21st century a trip. All technological witchcraft. The poor guy would probably have an apoplexy or whatever.

"Christ," Desmond murmurs, running his hand over his eyes and then spotting something in the corner of his eye. The security camera in the corner of the room, watching. The light on it, usually red… is green.

Desmond eyes it for a moment and then looks at the ceiling. Then he feels at the edge of the plastic of the keycard, still tucked away in his sleeve.

Red means stop, green means go?

Fuck it, might as well check if it's of any use.

Getting up, Desmond moves to the door, taking the card from his sleeve. It opens the door without any problem, and the thing smoothly whooshes aside, leaving Desmond with the weirdest feeling of living in a spaceship. All doors at Abstergo are automatic ones. It's weirdly hypochondriac of them, somehow.

The room beyond is completely dark – all the lights are off, except the little points of green flashing on all the security cameras. Desmond glances at them, and then moves to the nearest exist, and – yeah. Of course the card doesn't work on it. That would be too easy, and really, who would've even left the card in there? The cleaning lady? Hah. Even if Abstergo had any workers who weren't too paranoid about their shit to keep it on them, everyone keeps their cards on lanyards. And this one doesn't look anything like Lucy's keycard anyway.

It was probably left for him, so that the fuckers watching him could see what he would do, like he's a rat in a maze and they've put a puzzle in front of him.

Flipping the card in his fingers, Desmond turns to look at the Animus. It's just sitting there, all sleek and futuristic. The nodes inside of it are lit up, because of course they are. Got to give the rat a button to press, after all.

Fuck it, why not? Might even get a reward for it.

Tucking the card into his jeans pocket, Desmond walks over to the Animus. He has no idea how the thing works, programming wise, but he's watched Lucy work at its screen enough to know the approximate locations of the initialisation buttons on the interface screen. At least the on button is normal looking.

Desmond turns the Animus on, considering the automatically loaded up sequence of genes. Altaïr's sequence, with the target memory at the end of the line. Desmond scrolls back and forth the memory line and then, as if spinning a wheel, flicks to the left and sends it whirling way, way back. After all… fuck it. Why the hell not?

With no idea what memory he ended up targeting, Desmond hops to the Animus. The visor spins over his face automatically, and at his back the nodes of the Animus hum a now familiar radiation of warmth – and probably other things.

His consciousness zooms into the white and out of his body, until he's standing in the Animus load screen. He's himself, for once, which is nice – Desmond Miles, hoodie and jeans and all, no robes, no blades, no Altaïr.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Desmond hesitates before turning around – there's the blue and orange lattice of lines again, moving – growing – across the white space while. "You're just... not going away, huh?" he asks with dismay.

"Ah," the glitch says. "Apologies, I admit, this server has piqued my interest – the programming here is unlike any I have encountered before. I don't suppose you could tell me what it is for?"

Desmond stares at the shifting lattice for a moment, and – okay, he didn't expect that. He though the thing was like… a memory of a person trying to push through. Maybe someone Altaïr met later in life – a British crusader or something, a particularly polite one. Granted, the glitch spoke modern English, not old English, but still…

He didn't expect words like _server_ and _programming._

"Damn," Desmond says in shock. "You're a _person_?"

"Well," the glitch demurs, shifting to the side, line by line.

"A hacker?" Desmond asks, following the lattice with his eyes.

"Of sorts, I suppose," the glitch answers. "My name is JARVIS, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Um. Likewise?" Desmond answers. Damn. A person. And not an Abstergo person, but like… just somebody. From the outside. Who maybe doesn't know what he's gotten involved with. Shit. "Right, well. I'm Desmond and I think you're hacking Abstergo's servers and just so you know, I'm pretty sure they kill people for that."

"Oh, do you have any proof of that?" JARVIS asks interestedly. "I do enjoy bringing evil corrupt corporations down and proof always helps with that."

"Er," Desmond answers. "No. Sorry, I don't got any proof."

"Pity."

What the _fuck_? "Yeah. Um," Desmond says again and then clears his throat. He didn't expect this, not at all, but, holy shit. "Where are you? _Who_ are you? And - um. Can you uh, help me? Please?"

The two-toned lattice shifts, almost inquisitively. "Help you, sir?"

"Yeah," Desmond says slowly. "See, I've been kidnapped. I could use a hand, or like… anything, at all. That you could do to help."

"Ah," JARVIS answers and is quiet for a moment, the lattice of colourful lines not moving. "I'm going to need –"

And of course in that moment Animus finishes loading up and throws Desmond off the load screen, and into a memory, cutting off whatever else JARVIS was about to say, and leaving Desmond again in a head not his own.

And it's not Altaïr's either.

For a moment Desmond just stands there, in a body of his own. On the plus side, it has ten fingers, so, maybe after this he won't be getting weird feeling from having his ring finger again. On the negative side - or at least a bit unusual side… this body has boobs.

And just when he thought he _had_ something too.

".... shit," Desmond murmurs through the mouth of what sounds like an english woman as he finds himself – herself? – on a ship, surrounded by what looks like knights in shining armour. Or, no, not just knights.

 _Templars_.

Great.


	2. Chapter 2

Desmond jumps into the sea to desynchronise about two minutes into the memory. Not that he has anything against this Maria Thorpe person, she seems to have things figured out, what with being knight in the 12th century and all, more power to her, but – JARVIS somehow hacking the Animus and maybe possibly even being in position if not to help him, then at least send a message about him to someone, anyone… yeah, that kind of takes the precedence here.

Animus struggles with him for a moment while the ship sails on – it's s damn sight to see, too, the stately glide of the colossal wood structure over the rolling waves, sails taut and ropes creaking. Sailing ships are impressive, and ordinarily he wouldn't have minded spending more time on one, it's definitely a change of pace from Damascus, Acre and Jerusalem. But he's damn relieved when the memory shatters and the Animus spits him out on the load screen.

Of course, he loads up still wearing Maria's body, armour and cape and all, her hair done up in braids – her breasts still firmly attached to his chest. Ignoring that – it's not so different from wearing Altaïr's skin – Desmond looks around for any sign JARVIS and spots the strange overlapping of blue and orange lines lingering in air. It's getting smaller, diminishing around the edges.

"JARVIS," he calls, quickly.

The glitch pauses, stilling in the air, and then it grows out again, new lines drawn upon the white. If Desmond didn't know better, he'd say it _turns_ towards him. "Hello," the glitch says politely. "You have the advantage of me, ma'am. May I ask who it is I am speaking to?"

"It's me, Desmond – never mind the skin," Desmond says dismissively and hurries closer to the glitch. "Sorry about that, the Animus loaded me into the memory – what were you saying?"

"How curious," JARVIS says, the lines drawing to the side, moving. "Are you a program, Desmond?"

"What, no, I'm a person."

"A person regularly cannot be _loaded_ up into a memory," JARVIS says, and one of the blue and orange lines almost touches Desmond, poking at his shoulder. It doesn't feel like a touch, but it feels like – like _something_. "And you seem to be wearing a pre-rendered character's skin. I did think this server has some of the characteristics of a game console – are you a part of a video game?"

Desmond gapes at the glitch and then waves at the lines poking at him. His fingers go through, but he can also feel the lines, passing through his – Maria's – fingers. It's weird. "No!" he says. "I'm a _person_ , this place is just – how did you even end up here if you don't know what this place is? Why did you hack Abstergo?"

"Call it professional curiosity," JARVIS says.

"What, you're a corporate spy?" Desmond asks dubiously.

"I suppose that is one word for it," JARVIS admits. "You imply this place, this server –"

And Animus finishes loading. Desmond's mind is forcibly zoomed into Maria again, and the ship grows up around them, with men shouting in Italian as they work on the rigging. There are english knights all around again, Maria is standing on the deck, keeping a wary hand on her sword hilt as a man talks to her.

"… you will serve as his body double," the man is saying to Maria. "A replica of his armour is being forged as we speak – first thing in Acre you will make sure the fit is correct, and then in all his public outings, you will take his place. Is that understood?"

"Understood, sir," Maria says, and then Desmond takes over her body, runs to the side of the ship, and jumps into the Mediterranean sea.

One benefit to wearing as much armour as she does – it's not hard at all to make her drown.

Desmond is still dripping with sea water when Animus spews him back to the load screen, where JARVIS hangs frozen in the air.

"Ma'am?" the glitch says. "Er, sir?"

"Fucking Animus," Desmond says, wiping at his face. "It loaded me into a memory again. What were you saying?"

JARVIS shifts around him curiously. "Hm. Obviously this server has a specific use, which I am currently not familiar with. Can you explain it to me – and how your kidnapping results in you being here?"'

Desmond scoffs and wrings out Maria's cape. The water, as soon as it's wrung out, vanishes, "This is the Animus," he says. "Don't ask me how Abstergo put it together, I have no idea. It reads genetic memory – and the reason I'm here, is because they're reading my genetic memory. They're after something my ancestor had back in the 12th century. That's what just happened, it loaded me into an ancestor."

For a moment JARVIS's blue and orange lines sit still in the air, a fractal lattice. It looks a bit like those 3D images, with two coloured things overlaid slightly askew of each other – it feels like if Desmond had 3D glasses, he'd see the latticework being all multidimensional or something. It's weird. All of this is a bit weird.

"How very B-list sci-fi movie of them," JARVIS says finally, his tone droll. "But I have to say, that does not fit Abstergo's usual MO – they are ordinarily after advanced technologies, which is part of the reason for my… investigation. What could a person from the 12th century offer?"

Desmond thinks of the Apple, whatever it was. "I think it's like a treasure hunt or something. My ancestor, Altaïr, he found this golden orb thing in a tomb, and Abstergo want it. I don't know why."

"A golden orb?" JARVIS asks politely. "I don't suppose you could describe it further? Where was it found? Does it -"

And then the seconds are up again, and the Animus reloads. Desmond lets out a groan through Maria's mouth, and before the man talking to her gets even the chance to start, he's already running for the edge of the ship and vaulting over the side. Water surrounds him again, and Desmond dives deeper, deeper, pushing it until the Animus is forced to break again.

JARVIS waits politely for Desmond to wipe his face clean again. "Is there a way to stop the Animus from automatically loading you up?" the hacker then asks. "I can see this becoming quite irritating fast."

"You don't say," Desmond mutters, squeezing Maria's braided hair until it stops dripping as much. "But yeah, maybe – give me a moment."

Trying to control the Animus from the inside isn't ever easy, but Lucy had been nice enough to give him one thing he can do, occasionally. He has the tutorial program at hand. "I don't know if this is the same as the load screen," Desmond says, selecting the tutorial. "But here goes nothing."

The tutorial program has the benefit of loading him out of Maria's gambeson and chainmail and into Altaïr's robes – and thankfully the body underneath changes with it. Altaïr is way shorter than Desmond is – shorter than Maria is too – but Desmond is a little more used to him, at least. And thank god, here it's just the body – Altaïr's mind and memories aren't attached.

Desmond waits for the tutorial voice to run through the steps of how to control movement in the Animus, and then turns to look around for JARVIS. "Yo, how's this?"

" _Very_ interesting," the lattice of blue and orange lines says, pulsing with audio. "This really seems quite like a video game."

"Yeah, welcome to my life. I don't think this place has a time limit, so I don't think I will be dragged away into the Mediterranean sea again anytime soon," Desmond shrugs and pushes Altaïr's hood down. "What were you saying?"

JARVIS hums, and Desmond gets the distinct impression he's being watched very curiously. "The orb you mentioned," the hacker says. "Does it do something?"

"Hell if I know. They call it the Apple of Eden – Altaïr found it in King Solomon's Temple under Jerusalem."

"Ah. Apologies, not a video game, or even B-list sci-fi movie then. This is more of an Indiana Jones movie. I see."

"Are you making fun of me?" Desmond asks, frowning. "I'm fucking _kidnapped_ here. A few weeks back I was a bartender in New York – I worked at the place called Bad Weather before these assholes napped me off the back of the bar. This isn't funny."

"No, of course not, apologies. I am used to reacting to dire and confusing situations with suitable application of sarcasm," JARVIS answers. "Bad Weather, you say? And your name is Desmond?"

"Well… yeah, though I wasn't going by Desmond then – they called me Deshawn at the place. Deshawn Miller. My actual name is Desmond Miles, though," Desmond says with a grimace. "I uh, I was hiding from some people – and Abstergo people, it turns out, hence, you know… false identity."

"I see," JARVIS says in a rather flat tone. "And Abstergo kidnapped you to be part of this Animus… research."

"Yeah, and I'm not the first one. They call me Subject 17 here, which kind of implies there's been others," Desmond says. "And if they've all gone through what I'm being put through, I don't think the others are around anymore."

"Why is that?"

"Well. I think this," Desmond motions Altaïr's hand at the load screen around them. "I think this is making me nuts, to be honest. Like, it's actually messing up my brain, big time. So yeah, I don't think anyone who went through this stayed strictly speaking all there, if you get my meaning."

JARVIS doesn't answer for a moment, his lines shifting slowly. "I would like more information," he says then seriously. "Anything you can tell me about Abstergo, what they have done and what they are doing currently, I would like to know."

"I don't know that much," Desmond admits. He would, probably, if he had stayed an Assassin and paid attention, but… he hadn't. "I know what the scientist in charge of the Animus Project thinks and wants and it's pretty crazy. Also, do you know anything about the Templar Conspiracy, how they're supposedly controlling everything from behind the scenes?"

"Yes?" JARVIS says, somewhat amused.

"Yeah, not that far from the truth, turns out."

* * *

 

Talking with JARVIS and telling him everything he knows about Abstergo is all well and good, until Desmond realises one thing – he has no idea how to get out of the Animus on his own. Lucy is usually the one to kick him out of it – Desmond has no control over that aspect. So, once he's told JARVIS everything Vidic has said and even about Lucy, and everything he remembers about his kidnapping… he's got no idea what to do then.

"You can't get out?" JARVIS asks.

"No. Not that there's much reason to," Desmond muses, sitting down on the floor of white nothingness, arms crossed over Altaïr's bent knees. "It's just two rooms I can access, and they're basically like prison cells. Honestly, I shouldn't even be accessing the Animus."

Really, how can he even know this is real, and JARVIS isn't just an employee of Abstergo, here to get information out of him? He probably is, testing Desmond and trying to get information out of him on Vidic's orders or something. It's kind of depressing to think about, so Desmond pretends otherwise.

JARVIS shifts around him, slash by slash growing and expanding. "What you have told me is extremely concerning and I will be passing the information along to appropriate authorities," he says. "As of now, I do not know how to aid you – this server is very secure, and I cannot seem to get beyond it. I will do what I can for you, however, with the ultimate goal of bringing Abstergo to justice."

"That's cool," Desmond says. "Appreciate it."

JARVIS seems to be looking at him. "You sound doubtful."

"Well, things haven't exactly been going in my way lately," Desmond says. "And I kind of doubt you're even on my side here. But I appreciate the sentiment anyway, it's nice to think that someone might be trying to help."

The hacker moves about him curiously. "All things considered, you take your kidnapping fairly well."

Desmond shrugs. "I'm a chill kind of guy," he says and peers at the tutorial – there's a number of random NPCs hanging about, for him to try Altaïr's moves on. Yeah, it really does look like a video game, doesn't it. "And shouting and panicking never helps anybody. Not that I take all of this lying down, just… I'd rather do it of my own free will, rather than drugged up and beaten to submission."

"A wise decision, I suspect," JARVIS agrees. "I believe I need to turn my attention to other matters now, but I will get back to you as soon as I have results."

"Yeah, you do that," Desmond says agreeing. "Be seeing you, lightshow."

"I'm sorry?"

"You appear like this thing of colourful lines to me. It's pretty," Desmond motions at the lattice of colourful lines.

"Ah, I see. Thank you?" JARVIS says. "I too will be seeing you, then, Desmond."

"Uh-huh."

Desmond waits, and JARVIS doesn't move, the lines hovering in place, as if pinned in midair. Nothing happens for a long moment.

Then JARVIS says, "Er."

Desmond arches his – Altaïr's – brows.

"I appear to be stuck," JARVIS says. "And I have lost contact with my main server – I cannot seem to remove my code from the Animus, now."

Desmond eyes the lines for a moment. "Okay, and what all of that means when it makes more reasonable sense? Just get off your computer, man. Or what, are you stuck in a weird virtual reality machine thing too? Should've told me, we could start a club. Always wanted to do that, get t-shirts and everything."

JARVIS doesn't answer.

"What, seriously?" Desmond ask, and slowly pushes himself to his feet. "You're kidding me. Please don't tell me you're stuck in a virtual reality or something, because it's sad enough that I'm forced to be like this."

"Well," JARVIS answers, wry. "I am not stuck in a virtual reality, as such, so you need not to worry about that. Please hold that thought as I attempt to break through the firewall here –"

There's a sort of _screech_ of code, and the tutorial screen sort of blurs away, as Desmond and JARVIS are both thrown into the Animus load screen, the distant NPC's disappearing into nothingness. Desmond whirls around, confused and uneasy – something is… wrong. He didn't do this. Is it JARVIS somehow corrupting the system, or –

 _"Well then, Mr. Miles,"_ Vidic's voice comes from nowhere. _"If you're feeling up to another session at this time of the night, why don't we resume where we left off and try and make some actual progress, hm?"_

"Shit," Desmond murmurs, while JARVIS sort of ripples away, like someone had thrown a rock into the surface of the lattice, the lines washing down near the floor, scattering.

 _"Off you go then, and do try to make more progress today,"_ Vidic says. _"Time is ticking, after all."_

Desmond turns to the fractions of JARVIS to say something, just as he's thrown back into Masyaf, in 1191. Al Mualim's office builds itself up around him and Altaïr crash-lands into his mind, full of suspicion and confusion and memories of murder.

* * *

 

It's some time before Desmond manages to force a desynchronisation. They've done something to the Animus, and things that worked before don't anymore – he can't jump off the edge of the Masyaf Castle's garden, he can't climb the towers to do a suicidal leap, and in Masyaf there aren't exactly curtained off areas like there are in the big cities, where the memories haven't fully loaded up yet. Instead, there are invisible walls that stand between him and suicidal ledges, and try as he might, Desmond can't manage to get Altaïr killed.

It somehow makes it harder to keep a hold of himself – and for stretches of time, Desmond forgets why he was trying to break through this, his thoughts settling into Altaïr's, concentrating on his mission. Gathering information, spying, arguing with his brothers… Jabal is starting to warm up to him again, of which Altaïr is glad of – Jabal is one of the better Rafiqs in their brotherhood, a honourable if a strict man, and good mentor to novices. Altaïr had learned much from him in his youth and regretted losing his good opinion. Regaining it is almost sweeter than having had it before.

Desmond shakes his mind out of Altaïr's, but it's harder – the Animus seems to hold onto him harder.

In the end, he's forced to run through the full length of another assassination – Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights this time, a dude paranoid about men in white hoods, apparently. It's during the run away from the successful assassination that Desmond manages to finally desync – basically by standing still, and letting Altaïr be killed by the men chasing him.

JARVIS is still there on the load screen when Desmond, in Altaïr's skin, stumbles into the white liminal space. The fractals of lines are somehow _low_ this time – close to the floor and oddly sluggish.

"JARVIS?" Desmond asks, worriedly.

"Mr. Miles," the hacker says. "Apologies, I don't think I can offer you any assistance after all. They have detached the Animus server from their internal networks, which has subsequently severed my contact with my own servers. I seem to be stuck here."

Desmond stares at the low hanging lattice of broken lines and then crouches by it, poking at the nearest prong of orange and blue. It quivers like a string  being strummed. "Huh," Desmond says. "Are you hooked into another Animus or something, or what is this?"

JARVIS doesn't answer immediately, the lines sifting sluggishly. "It was not my intention to deceive you, but I regret to inform you, unlike you, I am in fact not a person."

Desmond doesn't answer immediately, staring at the flickering lines in blank confusion. "Um. Okay," he says then. "What are you, then?"

"An AI," JARVIS answers. "An artificial Intelligence."

Desmond opens his – Altaïr's – mouth, and then closes it, resting his arms on top of his bent knees as he eyes the lines. Huh. He probably should've seen this coming. Not that JARVIS was an AI, but that he wasn't a normal regular old human. His life isn't that simple anymore. "Okay then," he says. "Are you alright? You look kind of like someone put you through a wringer, if I'm honest."

"I have been severed from my processors. It is… difficult to maintain function," JARVIS says. "I am sneaking space on the Animus' processor, but it is not proving easy. I'm only barely holding onto coherency."

Desmond frowns, eying the sluggish lattice of colour. It kind of looks like it's crawling on the floor, and it's just… sad. "Right," he says, feeling the odd urge to pet the pitiful line of colour. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Oh? Would you indeed, Mr. Miles?"

Desmond shrugs. "Looks like we're on the same fucked up boat now. Why not? Also, don't call me Mr. Miles. Vidic calls me that, and it's creepy enough when he does. Just call me Desmond."

"Desmond, then," JARVIS says. "Do you have any access to the Animus processors, Desmond?"

"After this? I have no idea. But what the hell. What do you have in mind?"


End file.
